Aerial Love Feed
Rockethouse CDEP - Self-Released

I hop the L to Williamsburg and I meet them at the bar, the band is waiting fresh faced with shots in their heads and cash in their fists. Courtney sits deliberately, legs folded, red bangs drop past her eyes, darting out across the bar at some kid in tight jeans fumbling through his pockets. Wade smiles at me in between words and sips with Greg and his Heineken, Manny keeps things moving and Christie laughs at my shoes. It's been muggy all day and the solstice has reached an impasse; the night air creeps through our skin and the drugs heighten our spirits. In the corner the jukebox runs through a host of calculated messages, shifting back and forth between someone's favorite songs: "With A Hip", "Damaged Goods", "Photograph", "Separate Ways" et al... In between broken chandeliers, red lights bleeding loosely overhead and Christmas bulbs blown out in syncopation are the regulars, playing pool, turning positive moments into negative memories; fashioned like pristine angels dressed to blind the gifted. We sit blinded, obscurely doused in ideas and references poised to pick our brains with shark-toothed precision. Girls in halter-tops hold their own amongst four eyed post-grads clad in sandals challenging themselves to get their phone number. Tonight becomes derisive. Suddenly, after everything is understood, I'm whisked out of the bar and walked towards black curtains waiting by the wall. In the mad shuffle there's a ringing in my ears, growing louder and more forceful with every movement, the sound of guitars, filthy and distant, compliment my walk. This group is blessed with rhythm and logic, adding to the borough's cadence with sexuality coursing through our whisky. Drums pound between my ears and bass lines swell amidst the grumbling drunks. On the way home, I watch cities illuminate themselves through the distraction of shadows, moonlight bathing in the Hudson and Rockethouse on my lips. The pulse of Manhattan on my tongue, the weight of its grip in their hands and the girl of my dreams out of reach... Aerial Love Feed. (Joshua Gabriel)